Silence fills the car again. Heavier this time.
I exhale slowly. “You need rest, Willow.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not.”
Her head turns sharply toward me. “I can’t just stop.”
“I’m not asking you to stop,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “I’m asking you to take a few hours so you don’t collapse while we’re trying to find them.”
That lands. I see it. The fight in her softens just slightly.
“I don’t want to sleep while they’re out there,” she whispers.
Neither do I. But I don’t say that. Instead, I pull into the parking lot of a hotel that’s somehow still operating, emergency lights glowing in the windows.
“We’ll start again at first light,” I say. “I’ll take you to every shelter within a hundred miles if we have to.”
She looks at the building. Then back at me. And I can see it— she’s at her limit.
“Okay,” she says, barely audible.
Relief moves through me, quiet but real.
“Okay.”
—
The lobby is crowded, but I manage to get us a room. One night. That’s all. Just enough for her to sleep. Just enough for me to figure out what the hell we’re doing if we don’t find them tomorrow. The elevator dings, and we step inside. The doors slide shut behind us with a soft click.
And just like that— It’s quiet. No crowds. No noise. Just her. I hit the button for our floor, then lean back slightly against the wall, my eyes flicking toward her.
She’s staring straight ahead. But I can see it now.
The cracks.
The way her breathing isn’t steady anymore. The way her hands are shaking just slightly at her sides.
“Hey,” I say softly.
She turns toward me— And then she’s there. Close. Leaning into me like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it. Her head rests against my chest, her body pressing into mine like she’s trying to hold herself together. My arms come up automatically. One wraps around her shoulders. The other settles at the back of her head, my fingers threading gently through her hair.
“I’ve got you,” I murmur.
She exhales shakily, her hands gripping onto my shirt.
“I can’t find them,” she whispers. “I can’t—what if?—”
“Hey,” I cut in softly, tightening my hold on her. “We don’t go there. Not yet.”
Her fingers curl tighter against me.
“They said to stay put,” she says, her voice breaking slightly. “He said he was coming, and I stayed, and now I don’t know where he is?—”
I press my cheek lightly against the top of her head, my hand moving slowly through her hair.
“It’s not your fault,” I say quietly.
